


Officiated

by GalahadWilder



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Angst, Asexual Alix Kubdel, Autistic Adrien Agreste, Crack, F/M, Fluff, More angst than I originally intended tbh, Polyamorous Le Chien Kim, Prosopagnosia, don't worry it's gonna get real fluffy again
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2020-06-30 06:04:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19847134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalahadWilder/pseuds/GalahadWilder
Summary: The aftermath of an Akuma attack leaves Ladybug and Chat Noir legally married.





	1. Chapter 1

“So,” Chat said, after the Cure had been cast and the ladybug swarm enveloped Paris, undoing all of the damage that Officiantado had caused… or, most of it, at least. “It’s, um, still here.”

“What?” Ladybug said. She dashed toward him, staring down in horror at the paper in his hands. “Oh—oh no.” She blinked. “This can’t—this _can’t_ be legally binding, can it?”

“I have no idea,” Chat said, holding the marriage license gingerly, so as not to rip it with his claws. “But… My Lady…” He swallowed. “This has my real name on it. My civilian name.”

_Let this document show the legal binding in matrimony of Adrien Laurence Agreste and ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

He couldn’t read her name, for some reason. Every time he tried his eyes just sort of… slid off it.

She gasped, covering her mouth. “So—so is mine,” she whispered. “I… Chat, we _can’t let anyone see this.”_

“Got it,” Chat said, raising his claw and preparing to Cataclysm the marriage license into oblivion. Then, suddenly, realization—“My Lady,” he said. “Do you think… there might be another copy?” He wiggled his fingers nervously. “I saw Officiantado filling these out in triplicate, and… I’m not sure we’ll be able to find the other copies if we lose this one.”

Ladybug stared at him, then clenched her teeth. “Dammit,” she said, stomping her foot. “Dammit, dammit, dammit.” She sighed, pushed her bangs out of her face. “Okay,” she said. “I guess… I guess… at least for now, we’re… we’re…”

“Married,” Chat said.

This was not how he wanted it to happen.


	2. Chapter 2

The coverage from the aftermath of the attack is certainly interesting. Nobody’s entirely sure why the Cure didn’t destroy the legal documents, all of which are, according to law, completely official government documents. They can’t just be destroyed or ignored; each one has to be painstakingly reversed through the legal process.

”We apologize to everyone who was accidentally married thanks to the most recent Akuma attack,” Mayor Bourgeois says on Marinette’s computer screen. “City hall is offering no-fault annulment to any couples who were affected. Simply have both parties bring the documents to a court of law...”

”That doesn’t sound like a great idea,” Marinette remarks to Tikki. “What if one member of the ‘couple’ is an abuser?”

Tikki swallows a massive chunk of cookie. ”I can see how that would be a problem,” she says. “Or...” She smiles. “If neither member knows the other’s identity?”

Marinette looks down at the certificate laid across her desk and frowns. _Let this document show the legal binding in matrimony of ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ and Marinette Elena Dupain._

After hearing how Officiantado got Akumatized, she’s not entirely surprised to find that he got her name wrong. She can’t decide whether it’s sexism or racism that made him leave off the Cheng from her name. Apparently, he’d volunteered to officiate a gay wedding for the express purpose of refusing to conduct the ceremony once it was already underway, got fired for the stunt, and _bam_ , butterfly.

She doesn’t feel so guilty about punting him across the river now.

”So,” Marinette says, her eyes flicking between the certificate and the screen. “There’s no way Chat and I can get this annulled as our superhero selves?”

Tikki shakes her oversized head. “They won’t be able to find the other copies if they can’t read your names,” she says.

”So if we want to get out of this...” Marinette says, then sighs and drops her head into her hands. “We have to reveal our identities.”

Tikki frowns. “It does seem that way.”

“I don’t know if it’s even worth it,” Marinette grumbles. “Maybe we should just stay married.”

Tikki rolls her eyes. She knows how _that_ will turn out.

Suddenly they hear someone charging up the stairs, and Marinette barely has time to hide the certificate before Alya flings open the trapdoor. “Mari Mari Mari!” she screams. “You’re never gonna guess what happened!” She thrusts her phone into Marinette’s face. “Ladybug and Chat Noir are _married_!”

With the phone blocking her field of view, Marinette doesn’t see Alya’s eyes catch on the corner of the certificate, sticking out from her backpack. Doesn’t see her eyes narrow.

Doesn’t see the grin spread across her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marinette's middle name taken from AlexSeanchai's "Manic Monday." https://archiveofourown.org/works/19856278


	3. Chapter 3

"...of course, when he met me, he changed his mind," Lila says. "Begged me not to go through with the annulment." She shrugs with a sheepish grin. "I told him we were too young for it.”

Marinette snorts without looking up from her sketchbook. Lila’s not even bothering to make her story _slightly_ believable, and the class is hanging onto every word.

“He was really sweet though," Lila says, covering her mouth with her hand like she’s trying to hide an embarrassed smile. “We’re getting ice cream together after we get the license reversed.”

“Wow, Lila,” Kim says. “You’re super lucky.” He purses his lips, shoots a glance at Alix—his current wife—who is currently sitting all the way across the classroom so as not to attempt to strangle Kim. Officiantado had caught them in the middle of a climbing race and decided they belonged together, despite Alix’s asexuality and Kim’s protests that he was already _in_ two relationships that he was very happy with, thank you. Homophobic dick apparently couldn’t wrap his mind around aroace or poly relationships any more than he could gay ones.

“Don’t know who’d be gullible enough to date _you_ , Rossi,” Chloé says, examining her nails. “How long till you spit _this_ one out?”

“Oh, come off it, Bourgeois,” Alya snaps. “You’re just pissy because you got married to Nath instead of Adrien.”

Chloé freezes. “ _What of it?_ ” she says, her voice dripping ice. “It’s not like Officiantado’s choices mean anything. After all, _you_ were with Kid DJ the whole time and neither of _you_ got married.”

Alya crosses her arms and pouts. “Don’t remind me.”

Nino tilts his head. “Who _did_ you marry, anyway?” he says to Adrien. “You keep dodging the question.”

The tip of Marinette’s pencil snaps. She feels her pulse leap in her ears as horror frosts her lungs—Adrien is married. To someone else.

"Y-yeah," he says, ducking his head, and oh tiny gods no, she can see him _blushing_. "It's—you don't know her," he says. "She's a friend from—from work."

If the whole class doesn't hear the longing in Adrien's voice, Marinette will eat her sketchbook. Again.

Nino turns his head, slightly, catching her gaze with the corner of his eye. Guilt is written across his face—he wasn't expecting the way Adrien spoke.

"Ooh, where's the license?" Rose says, dancing down the steps from the back of the class. "I wanna see it!"

Adrien shakes his head. "She has it," he says, then sighs. "We're getting it annulled this weekend."

Nino squeezes Adrien's shoulder. "Sounds like you don't want to," he says.

Adrien's shoulders slump. "Doesn't matter," he says. "She... it's not like... like she wants me anyway."

Marinette's chest tears in half at the devastation in his voice. She knows that feeling, that heartbreak—wanting someone who you know you can't have, who never sees you the way you see them. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to hold in the tears; she can't cry in front of Lila, or Chloé. Can't afford to hurt Adrien by showing how he's hurt her.

"What about you, Mari?" Alya says. "Who'd you get hitched with?"

Marinette's chest collapses. "Oh," she murmurs. "Um... I—I didn't." She's drawing in on herself, making herself smaller, and she knows it, hates it, but she wants to get away from everyone's eyes. "There wasn't... anybody." She forces a smile as best she can, looking up at Alya. "No—no... no marriage to annul."

Alya tilts her head, squints. "Hmm," she says.

The door pushes open, Madame Bustier wandering through it in a daze, carrying a stack of books and papers. "Sorry I'm late," she says, dropping her books onto her desk. "Just got off a very long phone argument with my new... ' _husband_.'" She's trying to keep her face neutral, but the anger in her voice is boiling over.

Marinette swallows. _I did this,_ she thinks, looking around the classroom at her devastated classmates. Guilt rises like bile in her throat. _I failed them_.

She looks at Adrien, and she can't help feeling like she failed herself, too.


	4. Chapter 4

Class lets out for lunch, and Kim and Alix bolt off to city hall to get their marriage annulled. Marinette can barely drag herself out of the classroom—she can't deal with the tension. She just wants to go home, stuff herself with croissants, and crawl into bed.

Instead, just outside the school, she feels Alya grab her shoulder and pin her against the wall. "You _lied_ ," she hisses.

Marinette rolls her eyes and groans. "What did Lila say now?"

Alya raises her eyebrows. " _Oh, Alya, there wasn't anybody,_ " she says with a playful grin. "Come on, Mari, I _saw_ the marriage certificate in your room yesterday."

All of Marinette's joints lock up at once as her heart leaps straight up into her throat and takes a deathgrip on the base of her tongue. She thought she'd been so careful—

"Why didn't you say anything?" Alya says. "I could've—"

Marinette surges forward, grabs Alya's lapels. " _Tell nobody,_ " she hisses.

Alya raises her hands in surrender. "Sure, sure!" she laughs. "You just gotta tell me who it was."

* * *

"Give it _back!_ " Marinette shrieks, attempting to climb Alya, who is holding the certificate just out of her reach.

"Come on!" Alya laughs, waving the paper. "I just want to meet your husband!"

"Alya!" She can't afford to have Alya read it. What if it blurs for her too? _What if she realizes she married Chat?_

Alya turns the certificate, peers at it. "You... you married _Adrien?"_ she cries, holding up the license. "You lucky girl, why didn't you _say_ anything?"

Marinette sees the license in Alya's hand, and for a moment, the name is still blurry—but then she processes what Alya said. Adrien. She married _Adrien._

The whole thing suddenly snaps into focus. _Let this document show the legal binding in matrimony of Adrien Laurence Agreste and Marinette Elena Dupain._

Marinette is suddenly struck with the sensation of all of her skin has been flayed from her body and she's been dunked in ice water. She's sitting, freezing, in front fo Alya wearing nothing but her muscles. _Adrien? I married... Chat Noir is... I'm married to—_

Marinette slides bonelessly onto the floor, curling up into herself, trying to hold in her body heat with her arms. "B-blanket," she rasps. She can't stop shivering.

Alya stares at her in shock, before launching to her feet, bolting up the ladder, and ripping Marinetet's comforter free of her bed. She flings it over her friend, wrapping it tight around her body. "Mari?" Alya says, hugging her. Pressure stim. Keeping her together. "What's—what's wrong?"

Marinette hugs the blanket as tight as possible. "Secret," she whispers. "Not mine."

"Adrien didn't want to tell anyone," Alya says.

Marinette nods. She's wrong, but it's a convenient excuse. Something she'll believe.

"I..." Alya bites her lip. "I don't get it, but... your secret's safe with me." She mimes zipping her lip and grins.

Marinette sighs through her nose with relief. "Thank you," she whispers. The blanket is finally starting to calm her down, her shivering subsiding.

"I do have... _one_ question," Alya says, holding up a finger. "Why did Adrien seem so sad that you were going to annul the marriage?"

Marinette feels her eyes pop.


	5. Chapter 5

Adrien drums his pencil on his desk. His father asked him who he married, _again_ —there’s only so many times “she wants her privacy” can dissuade the man. He’s never bowed to the wishes of his son or any of the people Adrien cares about before, why start now?

Adrien sighs. He wishes he hadn’t let it slip that Officiantado had gotten him. He should’ve kept it secret. Ladybug probably had—he’s willing to bet nobody even knows she got married. She’s always been better at keeping secrets than him.

”You okay, bro?” Nino says, with the signature Soft Look(TM) that he usually reserves for Alya... or when Adrien is _really_ doing badly. He hasn’t seen it directed at himself since last time his dad forced him (at the literal last minute) to cancel a friend outing he’d been planning for two weeks. Does he really look bad enough to merit it?

”Just... dad stuff,” he says, laying his pencil across his notebook.

”Ugh, yikes,” Nino says. “Doesn’t approve of the bride?”

Adrien twists his lips. “I don’t want him knowing about her,” he murmurs.

Nino grimaces. “I get that,” he says. “Your dad kinda sucks.”

”Thanks for the support,” Adrien grumbles.

"I'm just saying," Nino says. "If you feel the way about this girl that it looks like you do, I'd want to keep her away from him too."

"Yeah." Adrien looks down. "Not like it matters anyway." _She's leaving me._ He shakes his head. _You idiot, you knew she was always going to._ But something about this is different—something about it is more... final. Like he'd had hope before and now it's been speared like a harpoon through salmon—absolute overkill.

"Hi guys!" Alya says, walking in through the door, pulling Marinette bonelessly behind her. She shoots a glance at Adrien and winks with a sly grin.

Adrien looks at her, confused. "Hi?"

Marinette's staring at him, which isn't itself all that odd. She tends to do that—he hasn't quite figured out why. Is she intimidated? The fact that she always seems to turn away when he tries to meet her eyes seems to indicate yes. But this time is different—her eyes _lock_ on his, unblinking, and he finds he can't look away.

"Adrien?" Nino says. "You okay?"

He feels Marinette's eyes drilling right into his soul. There's something deep beneath them: a mix of shock, panic, and something... else. The fire he's only seen directed at others is flaring, deep beneath her optic nerves.

"Marinette? Uh, Adrien's not breathing," Alya says.

Why is that a big deal? It's not like Marinette's breathing either. Her entire face is going red, almost purple, beautifully contrasting the blue of her eyes. He's lost in them—

"Christ, Dupain-Cheng," Chloé scoffs. "You're such a spaz."

And just like that, the spell is broken. Adrien collapses into his chair, slumping forward. What the hell just happened? What was that? What was she—why was she _looking_ at him like that?

Marinette drops her gaze, stumbles sideways, bangs her side into his desk with a yelp.

Adrien leaps up to steady her, practically throwing himself across the desk. "Are you okay?" he says.

She looks at him, swallows. "Always saving me," she whispers.

Adrien has no idea why, but something about her tone makes him shiver.


	6. Chapter 6

_Always saving me_ , he thinks, pulling his pencil across the page, trying to write Ladybug's name from subconscious memory—breaking down the letters into components instead of the whole, the way he does when he’s trying to learn faces. (Not for any particular reason, though; just a thought experiment. Even if he writes it exactly he still won't be able to read it.) What did Marinette mean?

He lets class go by without paying a single bit of attention, too focused on what she'd said, the way she'd said it, trying to figure out why her _tone_ had stuck so much in his mind. Always saving her? That... inaccurate. Sure, he's tackled her out of the way of Akuma sometimes, and sure he's caught her occasionally when she falls, but... wait. Is _that_ what she means? Compared to what he's done for her as Chat Noir, it's practically nothing.

His windpipe slams shut as his diaphragm curls in on itself like a centipede. Does she... does she _know?_

He shakes his head. No, impossible. There's no way.

She must've been referring to something else.

* * *

Well, there goes any chance of denying that she's in love with Chat Noir, Marinette thinks as she stares at the back of Adrien’s head. Stinky bastard cat. She can’t _believe_ the sneaky asshole got her to fall in love with him twice!

Not that he knows.

She’s always kept the parts of her heart that belonged to Chat and to Adrien carefully separate—she loves Chat with her entire self, he’s her other half in a way nobody else ever could be—but there’s always been something set aside for Adrien, for the boy who showed her kindness when he literally could have done anything else. And surprise! That was Chat too. She fell in love with Chat because he was Adrien; she fell in love Adrien because he was Chat. The parts of her that belong to them—to _him_ —are crashing into each other, mixing, combining, forming something greater than the sum of their parts. Either of them could’ve hurt her; now he can rip her lungs out with a word and he doesn’t even know it. It’s... frankly, it’s exhilarating.

She tries to pay attention to class, she really does. She tries not to sigh as she looks at him. Tries not to be too blatantly lovestruck. But this is her Kitty! How can she not?

* * *

Why is he still thinking about Marinette?

The way she looked into his soul earlier—he _felt_ something, right then. A spark. A connection. He thinks of Prometheus, stealing fire from the gods, except what she’s stolen from him is something else entirely.

Is he really so fickle? He’s finally gotten Ladybug’s outright, unequivocal _no_ , even if she didn’t want to say it. He should be—he should be mourning. Why can’t he get the fire in Marinette’s eyes out of his mind?

* * *

“So I gotta ask, Sunflower,” Alya says as they pack up to leave for the day. “Why do you think your bride wants a divorce?”

Marinette’s lungs fill with ice water. _Oh, no, Alya, please don’t!_ she shrieks inside her mind, but she can’t—she’s overcome with a sudden coughing fit, and she can’t stop Alya.

”Because,” Alya continues with a smirk as she slides her textbook into her backpack, “that’s definitely not the impression _I_ got from her.”

Adrien halts mid-motion, his notepad slipping from his fingers and slapping onto the floor. “What?” he squeaks.

Alya shrugs, turns back to her bookbag. “Just sayin’.”

Adrien dives upward, snatching Alya’s arm, and Marinette stifles a shriek as she attempts to leap away from her suddenly _focused_ husband. “What do you mean?” he hisses.

Nino’s gaze snaps around, horrified, and when Marinette meets his eyes she can’t offer any reassurance.

Alya rolls her shoulders. “I know who she—”

” _No one is supposed to know!_ ” Adrien snaps, then falls silent as he realizes the entire class has stopped what they’re doing to look at him, even Bustier.

Alya raises an eyebrow and glances at Marinette.

Marinette clutches her fingers together. “Actually, Adrien,” she says, staring at the classroom floor, “she does.”

”Who is it?” Nino gasps.

Alya opens her mouth, only to be interrupted when Adrien starts to crush her forearm. ”I will _gut_ you,” he growls.

Okay, this has gone too far. Marinette snatches his arm, yanks it away from Alya. “Hey!” she says, booping his nose with one finger. “Too much.”

Adrien blinks, confused, his shoulders and hackles lowering. He glances at Alya, but she doesn’t notice—she’s too busy staring at Marinette.

And Marinette realizes... when Alix and Kim came back after lunch, they were fine. Laughing together, like everything was normal. Madame Bustier’s annulment is—apparently—going through with no complications aside from that first phone call. Her power may not have worked like it was supposed to, but... but she didn’t fail anybody. Not really.

Nobody except _him,_ when she made him feel unwanted. And she can fix that.

She clears her throat. “I think,” she says, “that your wife _told_ you she wanted a divorce.”

Adrien’s face falls, and he nods.

Alya’s eyes widen in confusion, her brows drifting towards each other.

Marinette purses her lips and nods back. “Because she’s an idiot who doesn’t know how good she has it.”

She doesn't see Adrien's reaction—is it defensive? Appalled? Resigned? Delighted? Doesn't matter. She's already on her feet and halfway out the door, Alya in tow, by the time she's registered she's even spoken.

It's her turn for solo patrol tonight, but if she knows Chat—and she _does_ , oh tiny _gods_ does she know him—he's going to show up anyway. To see her, and to get away from his house for a few hours.

If she wants to fix her mistake, she's going to need to be early, and show up at his room before he leaves.


	7. Chapter 7

“You’re stalling,” Plagg says, cuddling up to Adrien’s computer mouse. It’s an awkward position—he has to put his head partially _through_ the plastic in order to properly clutch it between his tiny paws.

”Yes,” Adrien says. “I’m stalling. I know I’m stalling.” He twists the ring on his hand, staring at the monitors—the Ladyblog ship forums. It’s the last time he’s going to be able to look at them. “ _Thank_ you, Plagg.” It’s not his turn to patrol tonight, but—but he has to see her anyway. Rip off the band-aid.

”You’re welcome,” Plagg responds, apparently having missed his sarcasm. He scootches upward and starts gnawing on the mouse cable.

Adrien grits his teeth. “You won’t eat cheddar because it’s ‘the wrong cheese,’ but you’ll eat _rubber_?” he snaps.

Plagg looks up at him, then back at the wire, then back at him. “Mouse,” he says, pointing at it. Then he points back at himself. “Cat.”

”That’s not how that works and you know it,” Adrien grumbles.

“Works well enough for—oop!” Plagg suddenly vanishes, like he’s been sucked into the mouse, and Adrien’s heart stops. “Plagg?” he whispers. “You okay?”

” _Shut up I’m hiding!_ ” the computer mouse hisses back.

Hiding? From what—?

Four red knuckles knock on his window.

Adrien shrieks, flinging himself backward away from his desk and accidentally rolling himself halfway across the floor, right into the middle of the room, where he’s completely exposed.

In his Ladybug jammies.

He locks eyes with her and his ears start to burn as she closes her eyes and giggles, the sight of which sends sparks shooting through his veins. She’s holding a familiar box in her free hand—a pastry box of some kind, probably a cake?

”Well?” she says with a voice like springtime. “Are you going to let me in?”

Adrien’s jaw drops. “Uh... I, um... yeah!” he manages, surging to his feet. “Lemme just—hang on, I need to...” He dives for the window latch, scrabbling at it with stiff fingers, before finally swinging open the glass pane.

Ladybug steps into his room like a ballerina, all grace and poise—then she slides the box out of her hand onto the desk, and immediately her posture shifts. “Ugh,” she says. “Carrying things over rooftops _sucks_.”

He narrowly avoids saying _mood_. She’s not supposed to know who he is, after all—

Wait. Speaking of. “What—what are you doing here?” he says. Then he realizes what he sounded like and throws up his hands. “Not! Not that I mind!” Oh, cats, he’s going to implode. “In fact I’m really happy you’re here—” _Why did you say that get it together Agreste!_ “—it’s just.. unexpected?”

Ladybug launches herself into his recently vacated chair with a smirk, kicking back and crossing her arms behind her head. “What, I can’t visit my favorite civilian?”

Adrien gulps. “F-favorite?”

Ladybug’s smirk widens. “Aww, _beau gosse_ ,” she purrs. “Your face is as red as my suit.”

Adrien moans, covering his eyes with his hands. “Kill me now.”

”Ugh, mood,” Ladybug says. “You always turn me into mush, you know that?”

Always? When did... Always? How often has she _seen_ him out of the mask? As far as she knows, she’s only spent a few minutes with Adrien at most—much less than she ever has with Chat. Is this a celebrity thing, or... “Do you know me?” he says. “In real life, I mean.”

Ladybug freezes. Then slips down the chair, her butt squeaking forward across the leather. “Should’ve—practiced more,” she grumbles, not meeting his eyes.

Cat in a Camembert trashcan. It’s taking everything he has not to rush forward and hug her—but that’s... that’s a Chat thing to do. Not an Adrien. He has to be—has to be careful.

He swallows, licks his lips, and very carefully opens his mouth. “What’s—what’s the box... for?”

Ladybug closes her eyes. “I... heard your—your _wife..._ wanted an annulment,” she mumbles. “Consider that a...” Her fingers play against each other, hexagonal spandex squeaking. “An apology gift.”

”Did you give apology gifts to everyone?” he says, reaching for the box. White paperboard. Tom & Sabine’s logo.

”No,” she whispers. “No, just you.”

His fingers quiver just over the box. What—? Why him? She’s—he’s not Chat Noir right now, he’s Adrien. And he loves her, so much, so very, very much, but why in Plagg’s name does he rank so highly for her?

”Just open the box, Adrien,” she says, like it’s a prayer. Like his name is something sacred.

His heart squeezes in his chest. He can’t—if she feels...

His fingers slide in between the top of the box and the walls, and it flips open. He was right—it’s a cake, chocolate. Green lettering across the top.

_GOOD LUCK RETURNING ME WITHOUT THE RECEIPT!_

”W-What?” he says, staring. There’s a black cat peeking through the Os, like eyes. And a... doodle of a... burning piece of paper? It’s got two sets of initials on it, ALA and MDC. That first one is his.

The cake has a familiar pink rose design across the side, and he knows he should recognize it but his brain won’t let him.

”I... I turned 18 two months ago,” Ladybug says, soft and quiet.

He blinks, turns around. “What do you—?”

 _Marinette_ blushes in her pajamas, meeting his eyes for a half second before dropping them to her feet, shrinking into the leather of the chair. “Hi, Chaton,” she says with a shy smile. “Surprise.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As many of you noticed, when I started writing this they weren't originally going to be 18. And then I looked up France's marriage laws.
> 
> I *know* the ages/timelines in this don't work so please just... ignore that, because the story is way less funny if I try to go back and make those logistics make sense.
> 
> Thanks!

She can't help reveling a bit in the way he looks at her. He's absolutely stunned, and for the first time she can see him without his guard up, without the carefully-crafted walls Adrien and Chat Noir erect to hide how fragile, how vulnerable, they really are, and her heart _aches_ for him, for her silly, flirty, dorky partner who was kind to her on the days she needed it most. There's no tension in his muscles whatsoever; if she poked him, she's certain he'd collapse into a puddle of boneless jelly. And he's doing that fish-face thing she's sometimes seen Kim do when he's taken by surprise, his mouth open just a little, like he can't really open it all the way but he can't quite muster the brainpower to close it either.

"That..." he says, finally. He blinks, rapid-fire, and she can see the effort it takes him to tear his eyes from her, to twist his neck to look at the cake. "That's your flower," he says. "Your... that's your _signature rose_."

"Yep!" Marinette chirps, much louder than she anticipated, and immediately flushes bright red as it echoes through the cavernous room, slapping her hand over her mouth and sinking into the chair with the "farting" sound of leather against skin.

"I—don't understand," Adrien says, staring at the box. At the cake. "This is—that's Chat Noir's colors, that's his—" He points. "But... those are _my_ initials?"

Marinette removes the hand from her mouth, slowly, blinks. "Wait, I—?" Oh, seriously? "Chaton. I _know_."

He spins around to stare at her with wide eyes, overbalances a bit, and staggers into the chair. She barely catches him, her hand sliding on ladybug-print flannel.

"It's—it's _you_ ," he sobs, gripping the straps of her camisole and burying his face in her sternum. (It's mildly uncomfortable because his nasal bridge is right on the bone, and she wishes he would move his head a little lower to where there's some more cushioning, but she's not going to _suggest_ that lest they both spontaneously combust.) "It's—it's—" He jerks back, his eyes zipping upward. "Did you just," he says, measuring his words carefully in the way she knows Chat does when he's struggling to remain verbal, "just _propose_ to me... with a _meme?"_

"Um... no?" she squeaks.

His face falls. She can see tears gathering at the edges of his eyes, and she realizes how what she said must sound, and immediately her brain jumps tracks trying to backtrack.

"Because—!" Her arms start shaking, as she tries not to flail them at the boy currently in her arms, tries to not accidentally slap him in the face. "We're—we're already married, right?" She squeezes his shoulders, trying to keep in the nervous energy. "Can't exactly be a proposal!" Her voice feels shrill and awkward, and she wants to collapse as soon as she hears herself, but, well—she's caught between the chair and her _oh my gods I have a husband._

Adrien goes limp, sliding downward out of her arms. She scrabbles after him, trying to hold him up, but... well, Adrien may be underfed, but he's still got about a fifth of a meter on her, and while she can sling Chat Noir across the Seine from a standing start she's working with normal human muscles at the moment. She's yanked out of the chair and onto the ground, flopping on top of him.

She shouldn't have put on her pajamas before she came. She _thought_ it would help her with her nerves, make her more comfortable, but instead she's only too aware of _how little clothing_ is between her and her _husband_ right now. And she's right on top of him. If he weren't shaking like a computer with a busted fan she'd be positively _exploding_ at how intimate this position is.

"Wow. You two are morons."

Marinette gasps as she realizes that someone else is in the room, and looks up to see a familiar tiny black shape, though she’s only seen it around seven times before. “Plagg?”

”You expected Xuppu?” Plagg cackles.

"Plagg! Don't _mock_ them!" Tikki hisses from her place inside Marinette’s pigtail. “This is very stressful for them both!”

”And if we don’t give them a kick in the rear neither of them will move past the ‘uh? Buh? Guh?’ stage,” Plagg responds, settling in top of Marinette’s head. “I’ve _seen_ how bad your girl is at talking to him.”

”I’m getting better!” Marinette protests.

Plagg’s weight shifts on her scalp in a way that suggests he’s rolling his disproportionate eyes. “You’ve been ‘getting better’ for years now.”

”Shut up, Plagg,” Adrien says, and Marinette suddenly realizes that he’s stopped shaking—and that she’s now once more _very_ aware of how she’s lying on top of him.

”H-hi!” she squeaks, trying to roll off him. “Feeling—feeling better?”

”A bit,” he says, with a smile that’s—well, it’s too “Adrien” and not enough “Chat Noir.” Or maybe it’s too Chat Noir and not enough Adrien. Either way it doesn’t seem genuine. “Sorry about—” He glances down, as if finally realizing that he’s holding her on top of him. “Oh!”

He releases her wrists and she _launches_ herself sideways, flopping onto the tile carpet next to him. “Sorry,” she gasps. “That’s—easier in the suits.” She looks at him, holds a hand out to touch his shoulder, thinks better of it. “You know. Touching—touching you.”

“...Ah.” Adrien sits up, and she can’t miss the way the disappointment is written across on his face.

She steels herself, reaches out, places her hand on his foot. It’s the most intimate thing she can do right now without exploding.

He flinches anyway.

”What’s wrong, Kitten?” she says.

”Do you—” His voice breaks, and he looks away. “How’d you find out it was me?”

She blinks, sitting up. He’s very clearly dodging the question. “Alya saw the license,” she says. “And since she didn’t realize it was for Chat and Ladybug, not Marinette and Adrien...”

”She could read both our names,” he finishes. He’s trembling. Again.

”Chaton,” she says. “Either tell me what’s wrong or I will chuck you out the window.”

He freezes, then turns to her with wide, sad eyes. “It’s—nothing,” he says. “I can deal.”

”It’s not _nothing_ ,” she shoots back. “I know you’re not disappointed in me because you’ve suspected...” She pushes back her hair, showing the earrings. “You’ve suspected my identity multiple times,” she continues, “and you always looked like you’d... you know, got the _cream_ when you thought it was me...” She clenches her hands, twiddling her thumbs. “I just—I can’t think of what else it could _be_.”

”It’s not your problem,” he says, gruffly.

”Of course it’s my problem,” she says, reaching out to take his wrist. “I’m your...” She swallows. “I’m your _wife_.”

He jerks like a gunshot at the word and yanks his hand out of hers. “Not for much longer,” he gasps, and then he’s collapsing into himself, his head falling into his hands falling into his lap, and oh. _Oh_.

”You thought the cake was sarcasm,” she says, softly, as all the pieces slot into place in her brain like a Lucky Charm. "You think—you think I still want the annulment."

"Don't you?" he whispers.

She swallows, walks her hand up his leg. “Why would I?” she says, feigning more comfort than she’s feeling.

Adrien stiffens, looking at her with shock in his eyes. ”Because... you never wanted me,” he says. “There’s always been someone else.”

Marinette giggles nervously. ”Do you know,” she begins, only to choke on her dry mouth. “Do you know how _hard_ it was to avoid falling in love with Chat Noir?”

He gapes at her.

She entwines her fingers in his. “Yeah, there was someone else at first,” she says, not meeting his eyes. “But... but he didn’t know me like you do. I never trusted him the way I trust you. He could never... make me feel proud, the way you do.” She smiles, tears gathering in her eyes. “I think over time, I just... I kept chasing him so that it wouldn’t hurt so much when I kept losing you.”

”You've never lost me,” Adrien whispers, his thumb gently tracing her palm.

She swallows. “You died just last week, Chaton,” she says. “I lose you all the time and I can’t—” She hiccups. “I can’t _stand_ it.”

He lets go of her hand, and she can’t stop herself from whining at his sudden absence, but then his hands are pressed to her cheeks and he’s holding her gaze to his own. “My Lady,” he says. “I will _always_ come back to you.”

The utter conviction in his voice rocks her to her core. He’s not saying that she’ll bring him back—he’s saying that, even if she can’t, he will tear down heaven to make it back to her side.

”The—the other boy,” she gasps. “His name was Adrien Agreste.”

Emerald eyes stare into hers, uncomprehending—and then his breath is in her mouth, mixed with the fire of her life, of _his_ life, and it’s exactly like Dark Cupid, hot and desperate and painful and _real_.


	9. Chapter 9

Marinette bounces out of bed the next morning long before her alarm, floating with a heart that's been inflated like a birthday balloon. She slides down her ladder, beaming, dancing lightly across the yarn and thread strewn over her carpet and throwing herself into her desk chair with a slide toward her desk. Right there, right in front of her computer, is the marriage license that started all this trouble and now is something so very different, and she can’t contain the rising glee as she picks it up, holds it against the light, reads _Adrien Laurence Agreste and Marinette Elena Dupain._ She spins, pressing it against her chest.

“It’s him, it’s him, it’s him!” she sings, kicking her legs in an attempt to burn off her happy energy. She throws her head back, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m married to _Adrien!_ ”

Tikki snorts, settling down on Marinette's desk with a cookie crumb held between her paws. “Oh, please,” she giggles, examining the crumb for Marinette's not sure what. “I knew this was coming since Dark Owl.”

Marinette shoots back upright, slamming the license down onto the desk. “Wait a sec!” she says with a smile, pointing a finger mock-accusingly at her Kwami. “You knew for _four years_ and you just... let me make an idiot of myself!”

Tikki's eyes flick upward. “I couldn't exactly have stopped you from doing _that,_ ” she says with a grin that Marinette would almost call catlike.

Marinette’s eyes narrow playfully. “You’ve been spending too much time with Plagg,” she giggles.

Tikki's tiny shoulders slump, and she frowns. “I haven’t been spending _enough_ time with Plagg,” she says. “He’s as much my other half as Adrien is yours.”

Marinette's breath catches in her throat. “Adrien... is my other half,” she says, wonder in her voice. “Oh my gods, _Adrien is my other half_."

Tikki giggles again. "Just realizing that now?"

Marinette pulls her knees into her chest. "It's _weird!_ " she says. "I never—I never thought..." She shakes her head. "Anyway. Adrien knows, right? You don’t need to hide from him anymore. So you can spend as much time with Plagg as you want."

Tikki smiles. “I’m very much looking forward to it.” She glances at the trapdoor. “Are you going to tell your parents?”

Marinette’s smile falters as her heart leaps into her throat. “I...” she croaks. “Didn’t think of that.”

Her windpipe begins to squeeze, air running ragged through her throat as the wedding license crinkles in her shaking hands. Oh, gods, she didn’t even—didn’t even talk to them about this. They wanted to be part of her wedding and then she went and had one without them—they didn’t even know she was going to have a husband. What are they going to think, that she went behind their backs, that she didn’t trust them? Are they going to be disappointed?

”Okay, Marinette, breathe,” Tikki says, staring her in the eye with her own piercing blues. “Focus on my eyes. Okay?”

Marinette digs into the blue, lets herself drown in it. “I—I’m okay,” she gasps. “I—we need a plan.”

* * *

Marinette tiptoes down the stairs, her hands sliding along the wall as she glances down at her purse, taking reassurance from Tikki’s calming eyes. She peeks around the corner into the kitchen, where her mother is humming, bustling around the kitchen with whatever misshapen buns couldn’t make it into the shelves downstairs.

”Maman?” she squeaks.

Her mother _jumps,_ twisting her head to face Marinette with her eyes wide with shock. “Dumpling?” she says, then glances at the clock on the wall. “You’re up... early. And fully dressed, too!” She beams. “What’s the occasion?”

Marinette steps out from behind the corner of the stairs, her fingertips pressed together, her shoulders up to her ears. “Um.”

Sabine’s face softens. “Oh, no,” she says, placing the roll on the counter and turning fully towards her daughter. “Is something wrong?”

“...No?” Marinette says.

Sabine’s head tilts. “Oh, Dumpling,” she says. “I know you. You’re not all right.”

Marinette’s arms drop. “Can I... have a hug?”

”Of course, sweetie,” her mother says.

Marinette rushes forward, her arms outstretched, and sobs into her mother’s shoulder.

”Shh, shh, shh,” Sabine says, stroking the back of her daughter’s hair. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

”P-please don’t—” Marinette gasps. “Please don’t be mad, Maman.”

Sabine kisses her on her forehead. “Why would I be mad?”

Marinette swallows. Squirms her way out of her mother’s arms, then reaches into her backpack and produces the marriage license. Then holds it out.

Sabine takes it from her, and her eyes go wide with shock.

“He... wants to stay married,” Marinette croaks. “And so do I.”

”...You’re... so young,” Sabine says. She looks up at Marinette, and there’s something intense in her eyes that Marinette can’t place.

Marinette’s ribs begin to squeeze in on her heart, and she knows she’s only a few seconds away from exploding. She searches her mother’s face, hoping for something, anything, that can belie her reaction.

”You didn’t get to design your dress...” Sabine says.

Marinette can’t tell whether the noise she makes is a laugh or a sob. Probably both. Of all the things her mother could have said...

Sabine’s head draws back, then she looks up and fixes her daughter with a glare. “You know this isn’t legal,” she says. “They got your name wrong.”

Marinette purses her lips and nods. “I... I know, Maman.”

Sabine turns and places the license on the counter. “Six months, Dumpling,” she says. “ _If_ your father approves.”

For a moment, Marinette can’t process. What? What did her mother mean?

“And make sure you and Adrien decide on a flavor of croquembouche at least a month in advance,” Sabine adds, and Marinette’s legs turn to jelly.

* * *

She tries to walk to school, she really does. But there’s too much energy pulsing through her, too many nerves, and finds herself running across the street before she even has time to stop herself.

And then—despite her being almost an hour early, despite her arriving before anyone else does except for Damocles—she sees Adrien standing in front of the school doors, bag over his shoulder, looking around nervously.

”Kitty!” she shrieks in delight, dashing towards him and leaping into his arms.

“My Lady!” he beams, lifting her up by the armpits and spinning her, laughing, and _wow_ he is strong, she feels her heart speed up as she feels the tenseness of his muscles. She bites her lip.

He places her, gently, back on the ground. “You’re here early,” he says with a grin that she’s rarely seen on his face unless he’s wearing a mask, and once again she’s struck by the fact that kind and gentle Adrien is also playful and supportive Chat, and both boys she loves are one boy and she’s so _lucky_. “Couldn’t wait to see me, huh?”

Marinette grins back. “No, I was just _really looking forward_ to the math test today.”

Adrien’s face falls, and for a moment Marinette is confused—before she realizes that _he thinks she’s serious._ “Kitty,” she says, softly, flicking him on the nose. “ _Of course_ I’m here for you.”

His face _lights up,_ and tiny gods, her heart is going to explode, she loves this disaster cat man _so much_ and it’s all she can do not to pull him into herself and kiss him senseless right there and then. And for a moment she’s about to.

But then he tightens, tenses, and she’s suddenly concerned. Has something happened? Did his dad find out? Wait— _why is he here so early?_

“I, uh, have something for you,” he says, twisting at the waist and reaching into his bag.

Marinette’s eyes narrow. “Adrien?”

He turns back to her, and his eyes don’t quite manage to make it up to here face as he holds up—

He holds up—

The ring held between his thumb and forefinger is tarnished silver, filigreed. There’s an inset emerald, octagonal, about the size of his pupil and the exact shade of his eyes. There are scratches on the surface of the gem, and it’s clear that he didn’t buy this—this is an heirloom, probably older than her, older than _him_.

”Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” he says. “I love you... more than—than I... have words for.” He’s straining to speak, to find the right words, but that’s okay because she can’t breathe, she can’t feel her lungs, she’s one step off from collapsing. “In the mask or... or out of it, you have always been... the brightest thing in my life.”

Marinette’s hands fly up to her mouth, and she can feel her legs shaking. God, this is her _husband_ , or rather fiancé, but the fact that he’s _proposing_ here and now—

“This is...” He looks down at the ring. “This was my grandmother’s,” he says. “I stole it this morning. I just—I had to—you _deserve_ it.”

She holds out her shaking hand, fingers splayed, and his eyelids begin to wet as he carefully slides the ring onto her finger. It’s too large, it hangs off her hand like her papa’s clothes, but it’s from him and it’s _perfect_.

”I love you,” she rasps, unable to take her eyes from the ring. “Chat, I—I just—this is—”

He gives a pained smile. “I can’t believe you want me,” he says.

She closes her eyes and smiles. “From the day you and I put on our Miraculi... there could never have been anyone else,” she whispers.

His smile goes from tight to five-hundred-watt, bright and brilliant and gushing love. “I love y—”

She cuts him off with a desperate, feral kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on Tumblr.](http://www.galahadwilder.tumblr.com)


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